


two birds, one stone

by lovefueledinsomnia



Category: Ensemble Stars! (Video Game)
Genre: "running away from the police romance" AU, "we accidentally killed a man together" AU, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Eventual Smut, F/M, Murder, Road Trips, Stabbing, The Strangest Romantic Tension, What Have I Done, What Was I Thinking?, but NOT the fun kind, but hey it's ok he's hot, but make it sexy, falling in love as you're burying a body, oops we killed someone together, probably, the strange sexual tension as your fingers brush each other against the forest dirt, ya feel me?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:34:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24415228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovefueledinsomnia/pseuds/lovefueledinsomnia
Summary: It's strange, really.You never thought someday, you'd be cruising in a total stranger's car, with the body of the man you killed together in the trunk. And yet here you are, stuck in an unwilling road trip with the handsome man sharing your unusual predicament."It could be worse", you think idly, lost somewhere in a loop of hazy reminiscences. "At least he's hot."Except as the eerie trip progresses and the strangest romance builds between you two, the wariness sets in. Is it really wise to let the blonde-haired man walk away after all this?You have no idea what you'll do with him yet. But you have the faint sense you're not going to like your final decision.
Relationships: Hakaze Kaoru/Reader
Comments: 7
Kudos: 25





	two birds, one stone

Was it the end ?

Maybe it was, and despite that dreadful conclusion, you did not move an inch. It wasn’t by choice. Each of your limbs felt heavier than a tombstone.

Your searing gut feeling was long useless. Now, you stared the wolf in the eyes, petrified by the weight of your own fear. In your dizziness, you could faintly make out _something_ attempting to pull you out of it— your own inner monologue screaming in a thousand different voices that _I told you, I told you he was a creep, I told you, you should’ve high-tailed out of there…_

You had no time for wistful what-ifs, and you were brought back to reality by sudden pain when he gripped you. Your head hit the wall strong enough stars blossomed everywhere around you— and you suddenly reminisced it all : adjusting your makeup in the dusty mirror of a car, then that quiet, eerie date, his arm around your waist as you stepped into the seedy apartment complex with a terrible feeling making your stomach twist and turn with every step—

Now you were certain of it. It was the end. He had a gun, produced out of seemingly nowhere and inflexibly pointed at you, and it was the end. Somehow, a small, unassuming pride bloomed deep inside you ; you never once cried. But you never fought either, a deer caught in headlights, left utterly at the mercy of your predator.

You thought he may have screamed, at some point, his words lost to an ocean of pain as his hands clawed at sensitive skin, again and again. You stayed still despite the bruises— despite the strength with which his fingers dug into your flesh.

No, you still weren’t scared of _him_. It was never _him_ , just bile rising into your throat progressively as the one-eyed barrel challenged you to a deadly staring contest.

 _That’s funny_ , you thought as a loud bang almost deafened you— _it didn’t hurt at all_. You braced yourself, still waiting for the realization to hit damaged nerves…

… But you were right. It didn’t hurt at all. Almost as if the bullet had never even—

You barely had time to blink, and he fell. Hell broke loose in front of your very unmoving eyes. It occurred to you that maybe, just _maybe_ , it was not the end yet.

* * *

The door was hanging off its hinges— you brutally recalled the earlier, deafening bang, that of someone body-slamming into an immovable panel. The armed man was throwing punches, now little more than a mass of furious, wriggling limbs on the floor.

…. There was someone else. The realization was slow, despite your heightened senses. Yes, there was a different smell— a different man, little less than a flurry of punches and kicks on the hideous carpet and a mess of blonde hair. You tried to move, to talk, to do _something, anything_ — but nothing happened. Your brain was frozen in place, your stomach lurching violently, your own deafening heartbeat—

Clarity dawned on you when you caught sight of it. The gun. _It was there, on the ground._ A miracle, divine intervention, or an extraordinary feat of good luck— you didn’t care. You’d think later, and for now, you lunged. It felt so heavy in your shaking hands, black metal burning your palm, stinging ominously and filled with terrifying potential…

You held onto it. You held onto the handle like you’d grasp your own life, your legs taking trembling steps backwards without even needing your input. Your aim was awful, shaky with nerves and blurry with tears, but you had to. The endless wriggling on the carpet never stopped, the two men at each other’s throat— and you couldn’t stifle back a hot sigh. You could never shoot like that. You had one shot, only one, and if you missed….

You couldn’t afford to miss. Your best attempt at a steadying breath came out as a broken sob, one loud enough that both heads turned towards you at once. The blonde stranger was holding his nose, blood dripping on that awful carpet you almost tripped on— and your date stood in triumph, slowly, deliberately, ignoring the vulnerable man as he scrambled away to the next room. The sight of his doubled over body rushing to the door didn’t matter. Little did.

Because now, you felt deep, sudden _bliss_. Everything was still, silent, filling you with utter purpose, _readiness_. With every threatening step he took toward you, his face hideously deformed beyond recognition, you felt another dam break within you. This time, you finally had what it took. This time, you wouldn’t stare death in the eye powerlessly, and your finger found the trigger, almost drawn to it magnetically—

A wretched scream, and then it was all blood. Your lips fell ajar, as a splotch of red wetness landed on your cheek. The blonde stranger, pupils dilated with adrenaline, screamed once more. This time, you saw it clearly— the kitchen knife he drove in your date’s back. Again. And again. And again, until you were covered in blood, until he coughed and wheezed more all over that hideous carpet, until the metallic smell and the nauseating sound of bones breaking and wet flesh tearing were enough to make you double over, your stomach revolting.

Your throat hurt, and bile stuck to your lower lip when you raised your face again to look the dead man in the eye. It was only your quiet gagging, and the stranger panting, hands covered in blood. That was when you caught sight of his face for the first time— pale, pretty and covered in blood and tears. Your eyes met, and an electric shock spread through your shivering, aching body, as _something_ united the two of you for what seemed like an endless, quiet—

The knife fell in a pool of sticky, clotted blood, and with it the unsupported body. The blonde man’s empty, wide eyes were still drilled deep within yours, filled for the briefest instant with every feeling you could put a name on— until he heaved violently. With just the same fury as when he burst into the room, the man ran to the kitchen, leaving you to stare at the messed-up corpse in heavy silence, only occasionally ruptured by the noise of his throwing up in the sink.

* * *

When he came back, wiping his mouth on a checkered towel he found god-knows-where, his teary eyes were full of what you could only describe as a cold determination. That was the first time you heard his voice, giving out shaky commands as best he could. He made sure you were the one carrying the feet – of what used to be a _living, breathing man_ , one who touched you and kissed you and talked to you – so he could be the one smeared in blood, having to pretend the unblinking glare of the corpse couldn’t reach him. The walk to his car, parked right in front of the building, stretched indefinitely in your hazy stupor.

When you came to your senses again, it was because of a sudden, inappropriate wave of nostalgia. Despite yourself, you felt like you were a kid, pushing and pulling groceries so they’d fit in the back of the trunk. The nameless, blonde man’s fingers met yours a few times, and that was when you knew he was faking composure. The warm, slightly callous digits trembled even more than yours did, even as he pointedly looked away.

It didn’t quite fit, but you slammed the trunk shut anyway, and you both pretended you’d never heard the sickening noise of metal violently hitting flesh. Just like you both pretended you were fine with going back in the cramped apartment that smelled of vomit, fear and death, as he inspected into drawers and cupboards— as you wiped every conceivable surface, even those you were certain you’d never even gotten close to.

You thought he cracked a few jokes you couldn’t make sense of. You couldn’t laugh, so you just stared as he scavenged for clothes in a closet. His bracelets kept clicking melodiously with his every movement, as he removed your blood-tainted top— a soothing lullaby in a world that abruptly stopped making sense. The too large t-shirt he gave you smelled of _him_ — of the creep sleeping in his trunk, and even though you said nothing, it somehow felt like he knew.

“I’ll get you something better later, promise.” His tone was light, even as his teeth chattered— even as his hands trembled madly as he was changing clothes himself. His pale skin was covered in goosebumps you feigned not to notice. Then it was more cleaning, more wiping, with him putting things in plastic bags while you observed quietly. It only took witnessing a few of his frustrated, feeble attempts for you to assume the role of tying the bags shut. Everything was tainted in a faint, sickening, bloody haze, as you wiped and he cleaned, again and again, until you shook and trembled, and he realized you needed to go – to run – as soon and as fast as you could.

In the end, he had to carry you back to the car with that same fake, reassuring smile plastered on his blood-smeared face. But that mattered little. You were finally gone.

You were finally gone, off to god-knew-where, in the car of the man who helped you kill someone.

**Author's Note:**

> if you made it that far, congrats ! we're now in this together
> 
> still unsure how long the full fic is going to be but there will probably be eventual smut ;)
> 
> i would like to sincerely apologize to kaoru hakaze for giving him hell in every fic i write. sometimes you just wanna torment a pretty boy
> 
> any comments, idea or suggestion will as usual be greatly appreciated ♥


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